


Scene Three:  A Battle, A Melee and a Truce

by ellethom



Series: Scenes From a Marriage [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Scenes From A Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 21:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8176102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellethom/pseuds/ellethom
Summary: A what if of sorts...canon divergence with as much adherence to book canon as can be mustered.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A moment of your time, please.
> 
> I have refrained from posting this in the hopes that I could make this as accurate as possible, I even enlisted some help from others. Its hard when you want something to be perfect.
> 
> Plus, last night in chat I was ambushed.
> 
> Thanks to Ragna01 for some assistance and beta help in this one. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine. Seriously.

Crakehall had always been beautiful, but Jaime could not deny the effortless ability of the house to become so suited for holding a tourney.  He had trained here, had nearly been knighted here in its hallowed sept. He surveyed the sprawling grounds now full of banners, tents, cook fires and people.  So many people.

She’d come; Jaime was certain of it.  He knew his intended enough to know that she would not pass up the opportunity to hear his confession, no matter how she felt about him afterward, Jaime felt a sudden sense of relief knowing that he would be able to tell another living soul, to unburden himself and his guilt.

He searched the grounds looking for the house banner, certain that at least Ser Martin would be planning on taking part of the games. He spotted his friend from across a long stretch of tents and waved Addam Marbrand over. Addam’s red hair slung loosely behind him as his horse met Jaime’s “Well met Ser Jaime.” He said with a broad smile.

Jaime nodded distractedly and spoke after another sweep of the yards. “Have you seen anyone from Tarth?” he asked.

Addam smiled at his friend.  “The little woman?” he asked with a glint. Not waiting for a reply, Addma pointing off to the far distance. “They are a minor house so they are most likely to be over in the reaches.”

Jaime nodded and lead his horse toward the direction shown him.  Addam followed alongside of Jaime destrier. “How do you know she is here?” he asked.

HE didn’t, just assumed.  His wench had a curiosity and he recalled her love of a good story

They searched through the area for lesser houses and found no trace of the sun and starts.  Jaime could not name what saddened him about not finding her; though he was certain Ttyrion would have a good laugh at his being snubbed.

“Come,” Addam said turning his horse around. “Let us retire to my tent, I have wine and we can see if any of those camp followers are lonely.”

Jaime shook his head but followed his old friend.

<><> 

She had been to tourneys in the past; her father had taken her to a few before the one at Storm’s End.  Now, here she was, in her own tourney, representing Tarth. Brienne fingered the helm that she was to wear and smiled as she fingered the intricate scrollwork across the top.

“I’ve been looking for you.” Her father smiled as he considered his only child.

Brienne studied him quizzically by way of affirmation. “He’s here.”

She shrugged, of course he was, he said he would be and had begged her to come.  He had even sent her the fine armor that paid for the set she had now. “Its nothing to me.”

Selwyn Tarth smiled, he knew how his daughter felt, but also knew not to push her. “Well,  its only a matter of time before he comes looking for you.” He warned.

Brienne shrugged again; her outward appearance did not belie the inner turmoil she actually felt.  The last tourney she had come to, Jaime had been a treat; someone to look up to.  Now, she felt centuries older than that skinny girl who wore his sword and followed him around.

She was not that girl any more, but she did bring the sword.

“Are you sure about this?” her father asked her for the hundredth time since they arrived at CrakeHall.

Brienne nodded. “You said this is my choice, Father.  I will not shame our house. “

He placed a hand on the top of her straw colored head. “You could never,” he assured her. “But, the Lannisters may see it differently.”

“Fortunate for me I am not yet a Lannister.  If, at all.” She smiled at her father.

<><> 

The first day of the tourney was overcast and grey, perfect for jousting.  Jaime had spent the past two days searching the grounds and making inquiries about the Tarth delegation; but no one could answer him, even with his famous face and name.   He was late in readying for the joust and nearly missed his first round.   He rode into each round with the gifted crimson and gold embroidery tied to his arm.  She had not granted him the favor, but he had wanted her to see it from the stands if she had come.

For all the good it did him, he lost on the third day of the jousting to the Mountain.

His brother was waiting for him on his camp bed when he entered his tent and slammed his equipment onto the dirt floor of the opulent pavilion.

“You were good out there.” Tyrion assured him.

Jaime ignored him and began to change for the evening feast.

Tyrion studied his brother’s form before speaking again. “She’s here.” He announced.

Jaime turned to face him, tunic halfway over his toned chest. “Where?”  he asked.

“Father won’t like it,” Tyrion smiled with a shake of his head. “But, it should make for great entertainment.”

><>< 

“Have you come to forbid me to it, then?” the girl smirked as she buckled her graeves.

“You’ve been hiding from me.” He accused. Jaime stood in the center of her tent with his hands clenched.  He had looked for her at the feast the night before but she wisely had avoided entering the castle. “I have no right to tell you what to do.” He answered. “We are not wed.”

“And likely as not to have any association after this.” She added. “And I don’t hide,”

He advanced upon her, grabbing her breastplate and anchoring it to her tunic clad chest. “Why?” he asked. “Why are you doing this?”

She glared at him as if the question was the most idiotic that had ever been uttered in human history. “Does anyone ask you why you do it?”

“Yes,” he said fastening the pieces of her armor. “My father questions me about it all of the time.”

She snorted. “I doubt that.”

Jaime shook his head and tried again. “I mean to say, why do you feel you want to do this?”

She shrugged as he adjusted her shoulder padding. “Because I am good.” She surmised.

Jaime had to smile at that, “I for one am well aware of how hard you hit, My Lady.” He assured her. “But, those others out there, they can hit hard too.  You can hit, but can you take a hit?”

Silent, she turned her blue eyes on him. “I can take a hit, Ser Jaime.” Brienne said. “I am not afraid of getting hurt. “

He nodded; he had been ten in his first tourney and had been fearless. “Stay low,” he intoned, adjusting the buckles. “What are you using?”

“What do you think?” she smirked nodding toward the bed.

“Ah, of course.” He said looking at the mace that looked to be as large as her; no small task to be sure. “You will wear my favor into battle?”

Brienne smirked and moved to behind the bed.  She produced his sword and buckled around her narrow hips. “Of course.”

<><> 

She was the Warrior himself in the center of the melee.  He had intended to sit and watch from the sidelines;’ pretend warfare had never been his forte.  But, as he had followed her to the field, Jaime got himself in the lists as a last minute entry; he would deny to anyone with his last breath that it had been any form of protectiveness he felt toward the tall girl.  Yet, he himself donned his golden armor in time to ride into the field at the last minute.

She was fierce; taking out the biggest opponents she could find, Addam Marbrand was the first to fall to her deadly swipes; Jaime watched his friend cut a traitorous look at him as he lead his horse to the side. He had figured her out by the old sword strapped to Brienne’s hip as she rode into the melee.  He and Jaime were the only two people in that yard that knew who hid under the dented bronze helm and Jaime was quite certain that his cousin would exact his revenge later.

Jaime held his own on the other side of the field; he took down the participants and dodged the flaming sword of Thoros of Myr.   When he looked for Brienne, she was surrounded by no less than five other combatants.  He turned away from a second swipe of the burning sword and drove his horse toward her.  From the left, a dark haired rider swooped into the fray and swung a maul.  Jaime saw the youth take out two of the assailants around Brienne and angled low to miss her swipe at a third.

So intent on the action, he missed the war hammer that swung him across the chest.  Jaime fell from his horse as the other two fighters attacking Brienne fell.  He crawled to the side with his horse in tow; Jaime angled for the side of the large field as the thunder of horses came at him.  The pain shot through his right side and across his chest.  He felt as if he were moving underwater and everything had slowed down to a finely honed point.

Like a sword, he thought with a laugh as the hooves came closer to his still prone form.  Jaime was certain he was to suffer some great injury or death, _and all because of that stupid, ugly pig headed--_

It was the shout of _Evenfall_ that rang across the suddenly too quiet field.  Jaime twisted his body in time to watch the copper colored rider with the Lannister sword barrel down on the rider who nearly trampled him to death.  Brienne flung her mace with a ferocity that Jaime had only seen in the heat of battle, her face the color of the gods awful cross stitch she had once given him in a a castle across the sea. The rider in grey armor slid from his horse, his hands grasping desperately to maintain his reins.

She had saved his life, or at the very least, his pride.

He cleared his aching head at the sound of the cheers that erupted across the stands.  Someone had won and Jaime glanced around to figure out who.  He was not surprised to see the familiar form standing in the center of the field littered with flowers.

<><> 

“You have some explaining to do, _boy_.” His father railed after the Jaime found himself breathing heavily and doubled over in the small patch of grass aside the tourney field.

The younger man shrugged his shoulders from an odd angle and allowed the pain to shoot through the rest of his body.  Somehow, he knew this was going to set a bad precedent for the rest of his marriage.

Tywin Lannister noted the boy’s pain but went on. “You allowed her to do this?” he thundered.

Jaime’s body trembled as he laughed at his father’s assertion. “Allowed?” he guffawed. “Father, the wench is nearly my size, how do you suppose I allow her to do anything?”  Jaime’s voice broke into coughs and Tyrion leaned over to pat his brother on the back.

“Not to mention that fearsome mace play.” Tyrion added between giggles.

Tywin continued to glare at the pair in front of him, “I don’t see how this is funny.” He insisted with a measured glare toward the tourney field where both contestants and spectators were making their way in a steady stream toward the castle for the end of tourney feast. “They will be talking of this for all of supper.” He grumbled.

“Now, Father.” Tyrion added with a smile. “Surely you are being far too short-sighted.” He grinned. “This will be discussed for many, many moons.”

“Years,” Jaime interjected, finally standing straight but leaning on a tree for support. Tyrion gave his older brother another hearty slap.

Jaime thought about saying something clever but Lord Tywin’s expression was enough to make him falter.

 “You're blessed with abilities that few men possess. You're blessed to belong to one of the most powerful families in the kingdoms, and you're still blessed with youth. What have you done with these blessings, eh? You fall of your horse in front of some the most important houses in Westeros. Every time that you shame yourself, the less our name commands respect. Doesn't it bother you?” His father stared at him icily.

“Of course it bothers me.” Jaime said reluctantly.

“Pardon me, Father” Tyrion apparently saw judicious to interject. “I seem to recall you saying that a lion doesn't concern himself with the opinion of a sheep.”

“That's not an opinion.” Lord Tywin said, his voice deceptively quiet. “It's a fact. If we even appear to allow other houses to slights us with impunity, we are no longer a house to be feared. Tywin glared at his oldest son, a look the younger man was certain had halted entire battalions.

Tyrion smiled, “I don’t know, father.  If I knew the Lady of a house wielded a mace in that manner.  I’d be fairly afraid.”

“Imagine what I have to go through to bed her.” Jaime replied to his brother.

“This, _girl_ ,” Tywin said with a sour grimace. “This, _beast_ is hells bent on destroying our family name.”

“Careful, Father.” Jaime said, the laughter drained from both his voice and eyes. “You are speaking of the future Lady of our house.”

“Perhaps not.” His father answered; hands behind his back.

Tyrion and Jaime exchanged a look before the older brother spoke. “Really, Father.  Threats?  I was under the impression you were in need of ships and a strategic location for a port.”

“Greyjoys.” He spat. “I believe Asha is coming of age.”

The smaller brother tilted his head and tsked. “Father, you of all people should realize that getting in bed with traitors only leads to sullied reputations.  What happened here,” he said with a wave of his small arm. “Was no uprising.  Merely a young girl with a gods bestowed gift.”

“Besides that,” Jaime added, grateful yet again for his brother’s sharp mind. “Gold we have, but I don’t think we are able to pay the iron price for her.”

Tywin sneered, the silence between the three marked only with the occasional sounds of horses and knights cleaning up from the melee. “This has been allowed to go on for far too long.” He insisted. “It’s time that girl learned how to be a proper lady.”

“Good luck with that,” Tyrion mumbled under his breath.

Tywin nodded at his son. “Lord Selwyn has been far too lenient with the girl.  I think,” he said, “that our fair maiden needs to spend some time at court. And…” Jaime knew he would not like what followed. “…the future of our family will be determined in these next few years. We could establish a dynasty that would last a thousand years... or we could collapse into nothing, as the Targaryens did. I need you to become a man you're always meant to be. Not next year, not tomorrow... now.” His tone broke no arguments. “Your mother's dead. Before long I'll be dead, and you and your brother and your sister and all of your children, all of us dead, all of us rotting underground. It's the family name that lives on. It's all that lives on. Not your personal glory, not your honor... but family. You understand?””  Without further preamble, Lord Tywin turned on his heel and stomped off toward the castle.  Tyrion and Jaime watched their father leave in joint silence.

Their joint laughter started in as soon as the towering figure of their father was well out of earshot. “Do you think,”  Tyrion said between gasps. “That he is serious?”

Jaime halted his laughter at that. “I hope not.” He said after a time.  The two brothers shared a look.

Cersei. 

With her husband’s role on the small council, Cersei had been spending her time terrorizing all and sundry in court.

The sobriety of the situation brought silence to the two siblings.  Tyrion was banally aware of his sweet sister’s ability to both hold a grudge and inflict pain.  He also knew that Jaime had spent a large amount of time keeping the creature out of his sister’s path of destruction both on Tarth and then at the tourney at Storm’s End. His small fingers began to pull at the wreath of roses that had been placed around his large head.

“Look at you!  The Queen of Love and Beauty!  Should I be jealous?” The older brother asked the younger.

Tyrion smiled and touched the wreath of wine colored roses. “Surely your giantess merely has her Lannisters confused.” He smiled. “And I would much rather it be the God of Tits and Wine.”

“Or,” Jaime began with a dismissive wave. “She intends to make me suffer for my own stupidity.”

“Ah, the short definition of marriage.” His brother answered. After the melee, she had ridden to the sidelines, right past the gawping visage of her intended to place the wreath on her friend’s head. “She is far too guileless to understand the subtleties of anger etiquette.”

Jaime nodded as they walked.  “She likes you far more than me.  Perhaps you should marry her, then.”

The cackle that emitted from the smaller boy split the quiet air as they made their way to the feast. “The logistics of that union alone are frightening.  I think I am rather afraid of heights.” He smirked.

“Oh, I believe you could make a way,” Jaime jested, knowing full well neither one of them was serious.

“I suppose it’s possible.  I did happen upon a rather large Bull Mastiff being serviced by one of those yipping ankle maulers once.”

“Where there’s a will,” Jaime supplied, “There’s a chair.”

Tyrion shook his head causing the massive roses to shake atop his pale blonde curls.  Jaime was reminded of a jester and his cap. “I shall leave your giantess to my dreams,” his brother finally sighed. “Though, I think she shall be busy in yours.”

“Hardly,” Jaime insisted.

Tyrion tilted his head, a mannerism that Jaime knew too well.  His brother may have been born short of stature, but his brain was far too large for a giant of old. “You know, Father only threatens because you are so easy to read.”

Jaime remained silent as they walked and Tyrion spoke again. “You care for her.”

“She is an interesting creature. “ Jaime said. “And my soon to be bride.”

Tyrion nodded, “Of course she is.  But, if you want to remain in the same situation you must play closer to the breast.”

“Father is a lot of hot air.  He wants that island more than he wants me to produce heirs.”

“I think,” Tyrion smiled. “I would tend to say that is the other way around.  But, they are close, yes.”

They entered the great hall and found the Lannister host.  The head table housed the Baratheons and their wives.  Cersei was forced to stay in King’s Landing expecting the birth of her second child.  Jaime was thankful to be able to sleep in his own chambers for this tourney, but if Tywin was serious in his threat he would have no rest for quite some time.

He found his future wife seated at one of the smaller tables off to the left of the great hall.  She wasn’t alone.  Her father sat aside of her, but across was a young dark haired whelp that Jaime was all too familiar with.

“I believe you are in my seat.” Jaime announced to Renly, ignoring the glares from the young woman seated across from the dark haired boy. “Baratheon tables are up front.”

“Ser Jaime,” Renly grinned with his too pretty smile. “Of course. I was just keeping it warm for you.” He rose and bowed to Brienne before running back to the Baratheon tables.  Brienne’s sapphire eyes followed the teen as he moved through the crowd like a panther.

“Well, someone has a little crush.” Jaime announced plopping himself in the newly vacated seat.  He studied Brienne as she continued to watch Renly. “Do you fancy him?  How sweet.  He could be your maiden fair.”

“You didn’t have to chase him off.” She said without turning to him. “He’s nice.” She shrugged.

Jaime reigned in his next statement; his first instinct had been to remind her of their betrothal, but then he recalled the current state of their arrangement and wisely kept silent. “I never told him to leave.” He said instead.

Brienne dug into the braised chicken and speared a chunk as if she were considering it to be his eye. “What do you want?” she asked.

Jaime shrugged, spearing his own too sweet chicken. “I foolishly thought you had come here to see me, not waylay half of Westeros.”

“I won, didn’t i?” she smirked.

Jaime nodded. “You did,” he nodded with pride. “And managed to save the fair maiden.”

Brienne gave him a half smile and shook her head. “You needn’t any saving Ser, except maybe for your honor.” She spoke the last words pointedly, blue eyes borne into his.

“You want to know,” he said.

“How can I expect you to keep a vow to me when you could not to your city, nor to your king.” She spat.

“My Lady,” he said far too loudly, Brienne knew what he would ask.  She stood quickly and moved toward the large doors of the hall. Jaime had to run to follow her, all eyes on the strange pair.  Some rose tankards and goblets as Brienne stormed past their tables, most glared and snickered.  Jaime glared back at those that dared to sneer at the mannish girl in front of him.  Everyone knew she had won the melee, and Jaime was surprised that her strength alone didn’t convince the idiots to keep their sheep thoughts to themselves.

Night had fallen around the keep, cook fires littered the fields and music played from some far off distance.  He followed Brienne as she maintained her angry cadence. “Wench,” he said after five minutes at the pace. “Did we not get enough vigor in the field today?”

She turned on him then; “What do you want of me, Ser Jaime Lannister?”

He angled his head, not sure of her request. “A walk, nothing more.” He smiled.

Brienne pushed him away and stepped back herself for good measure. “You know well what I ask,” she said.

He nodded then, “Of course.” He said. “The truth.  It is what you want, and what I wish to give you.”  Jaime turned to her fast moving frame and placed his hand on her arm, her flinch hurt more than he would admit to himself.  Anger bubbled up unbidden; how dare she judge him? What had she seen from the world other than a view from atop a windswept tower and a pair of twins near rutting?

“You think I don’t understand?” she asked, still not meeting his gaze. “You think I am so stupid?  That someone like me should not question and be grateful that I have found a match?”

“What?” he asked, stopping suddenly. “No,” Jaime looked at the young girl and sighed. “You are tall, stubborn, and quite possibly the most pig headed and thick girl I have ever had the misfortune to come across.  But, you are right. You do deserve to know the truth of it.”

She nodded curtly as if he should have been honest with her all along.  Perhaps, Jaime considered as they stood in the empty field.  Perhaps he should have been./  Maybe he needed a confessor.  Wasn’t that what marriage should be?  Someone who would be trustworthy, honest, loyal?

Of course, that had not worked so well for many lords and ladies; even some in House Lannister had turned one on the other. “My Lady,” Jaime sighed and sat on the ground in almost the exact spot he had been nearly tramped not four hours earlier.  Evening had settled into night and the warm summer air was as sweet as a song from Rhaegar’s lute. “This is not a nice story.”

She shrugged but said nothing.  If the anticipation was killing her, she never let it show.  Jaime could respect that. “I wasn’t told by anyone to open the city gates.  That alone was my choice.”

“But your father was waiting on the other side of the—“

“My father wasn’t interested in anything more than getting a crown set on my sister’s head. “ he answered. “But, I guess you know that part of the story.”

“Rhaegar married Elira.” Brienne nodded,

“And Cersei got Robert Baratheon.  Though, I suppose Robert was the loser in that one.”

Brienne placed her hand on his arm. “The city?” she asked with those eyes that shone in the moonlight.  Jaime could not deny her anything in that moment. “The city.” He sighed resignedly. “DO you know why they called him Mad King Aerys?” he asked after a silence.

“I would imagine madness had something to do with it.” Brienne said without the caustic bite he had expected.  Jaime nodded and went on.

“He loved fire, mad for it, really.  He even made fire the King’s Champion.  Anyone challenged in a dispute with the crown, had to fight fire.”

“Madness,” Brienne whispered in the night.

“We saw the banners coming up the King’s road three days before they made it to the city gates.  There was no surprise in it, everyone knew they were coming.“ Jaime closed his eyes and he could still see lightning bolts, apples, and dozens of colorful banners straining to make their way to the King’s Gate. Jaime watched his own house banners leading the rest. “Aerys was furious, said that he knew everyone had been out to get him.  He sent the city guards out to bring out the wildfire from its caches.”

“Ohm” Brienne said, and Jaime had the feeling she had wanted to touch him again.

“They were stashed all over the city, and Aerys gave the command, Rossart  was a Pyromancer, and the Hand of Aerys.  The last in a long succession of less than trustworthy appointees; though, to be fair, the consequences of a job well done were either exile or death.  I could see how that would narrow the list of those willing to drape the necklace of hands around their fragile necks.”  He felt her hand twitch next to his, and Jaime was certain she would touch his arm again, or even take his hand.

“I knew what his plans were, because he delighted in dragging me into his madnesses.  I was a member of the City watch but in truth, I was no more than a hostage against my father. “

“I thought they were friends.” Brienne said, and Jaime patted her head as one would a strikingly slow student. “They hated each other.’ He stage whispered.  “Quite famously.” He heard her small laugh “If I had not let my father and all those others in, Aerys would have torched the entire city.”

“How do you know if—“

“Burn them, burn them all. “ Jaime hissed into the night. “Let them be the kings of bones and ashes.”

Brienne gasped but said nothing.  Jaime’s eyes were closed but he could feel those sapphires boring into him. He realized then how young she was, how the world at large had not barged into her safe little pocket on her island.  Her innocence struck Jaime and he found himself both angered and saddened. What she will learn, he thought to himself. Taking her away from Tarth and dragging her to the mainlands.  Maybe it would be best to allow his father to find a different match.

But, he thought would she be safer?

“If I had not opened those Kingly gates, The mad King would have ignited Kings Landing.”

“Your father razed the city.” She accused in a small voice, he laughed at her then.

“Whatever my father and his bannermen did, half a million people didn't burn.”

She fell silent again; something Jaime had learned meant she was thinking.  “But they call you the Kingslayer.”

“I opened the gates of the city to my father’s forces, I allowed the king to be killed.” He said.

“You saved the city.”

“Oh, really?” Jaime asked, “I shall be sure to let everyone know that My wife says I am innocent.”

“Ser Jaime, people need to know, you are a hero.”

Jaime shook his head and placed his hand on hers. He was again reminded of her youth and innocence. “I am, the man who chose his father’s glories over duty. I am the man with shit for honor; no one wants to know the truth. Eddard Stark had glared at him from his grey stallion as the noble northerner moved through the gate. “People don't want the truth; it often conflicts with their own self-righteousness.” He looked at her again. “No one cares My Lady.” He clarified.

They sat in the empty field under the deepening night.  Jaime watched the moon play shadows over her dour face like the cursed fields of HarrenHal as Brienne seemed to consider his words for what seemed hours.  Perhaps he had the right of it; to let her go and find some night that had never crawled into his sister’s smallclothes nor threw open the gates of a city to allow it to be sacked.  “My Lady, does my story fulfill your need for truth?” he asked. “For the honor of your house and your family?”

“What are you asking?” she said.

Jaime shrugged and scooted closer to her. “I would know if you still ask to set aside our betrothal.”

“As if _Lord_ Lannister would suffer that.” Brienne snorted.

“You’ve made it easier, my lady.” He sighed. “Unless, that is what you wish then it is easiest to set aside now.”

Brienne fell silent for a time, “I’ll not lay aside my sword.” She whispered.

Jaime laughed. “I would never ask it of you.  It’s the only interesting thing about you, Wench.”

“My name is—“

“I know well your name, Brienne.” Jaime cut as he rose; with a slight bow he offered his arm to help her up from the ground. ”There is something I must warn you of, however.”

She turned her head to study him patiently as he guided her back toward the castle. “Ser?” she asked.

“My Lord father, he is concerned about your _outside interests_.”

“My _what_?” she asked with a frown.

_Stupid plank!_ Jaime thought to himself but could not find the breath to speak it out loud. “He means to send you to court, under the auspices of learning to be a lady.”

Her barked laughter surprised him and startled those that had made camps around the castle. She laughed so hard that they were forced to stop for a time.  Jaime realized, it was the first time he had ever heard her laugh, and he could not help his own smile as she doubled over with her arm still in his. “I’m no lady.” She said between gusts.

“He means to make you into one.” Jaime said.

“ _He can try_ ,” Brienne erupted into another laughing fit, Jaime got the impression she was not understanding the gravity of the situation. “Brienne, do you realize you will be in a den of vipers?  Are you…”

“I am not afraid of anything.” She said. “I would think you understood that after today.”

So alike the two of them, he thought.  Jaime had always felt he could handle any situation with a sword.  The wench had no idea what she was walking into. ”Having a sharp sword is quite different from having a sharp tongue and a sharper wit.”

They had made it to the great hall, nearly empty now save for the drunks and gamers. “Perhaps a match is not so wise.“ she considered with her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Perhaps.” Jaime nodded, “But where would the fun of that be?”

“I’m not suited to be a Lady of a house, especially one as large as yours.”

“Would you prefer Storm’s End then?” Jaime fired, surprised at his own irritation.

Was that jealousy?  Did he have his sister’s proclivity of not being able to share his toys?

“I am no lady, _Ser_.” Brienne answered through clenched teeth. “I’m not meant to fret over menus and worry over fashions.  Whether in the Westerlands or the Reach.”

“Of that, we must agree.” Jaime smiled. “Perhaps we shall then make you Master of Arms.”

“Don’t mock me, Ser.” Brienne spat. “I will not be mocked for the rest of my days.”

He caught her meaning, a smile stole across his handsome face and he mindlessly grabbed for her hand “My Lady, if it pleases you then we shall name you Lord of Casterly and I will prance around in a dress.”

“You are mocking me again,” Brienne said, but in the dying firelight of the nearby hearth he could see a smile threatening in the far corners of her too wide mouth.

“I would not jest over such a thing.” He replied. “But as for Court…”

Brienne nodded, “You will be there.”

“I will be there.” Jaime added. “Mostly.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
